


Eight

by reallynotsure



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Animal Death, Homophobic Language, M/M, Unrequited Love, i will add more tags as i post more chapters, it's not graphic it's just sad okay, so if you're sensitive think twice before reading, the first chapter goes into details about a pet being put down, vet au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallynotsure/pseuds/reallynotsure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven universes in which Harry and Louis miss the opportunity of a lifetime, and one in which they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dusty

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, as I mentioned in the tags, this chapter is pretty sad. Sorry. If you're really sensitive to the death of an animal (not graphic or shocking at all, I promise), or a little bit of medical stuff (mention of needles), maybe reconsider reading the first chapter. Not all of the chapters will be this sad, or at least I hope they won't. Shit, maybe they will. I have no idea.
> 
> Okay, please leave kudos and/or comments, they're really nice and make me happy. 
> 
> Enjoy, hopefully.

“She’s been actin’ funny ever since me partner moved his dog in.” Mrs. Carlton says, anxiously stroking the head of Amy, her nine year old German Shepherd. “I’m scared she might be pregnant, you see. Me partner’s dog’s a male, dominant old thing too, and they’ve not really taken to each other. Look at her tummy, doesn’t she look pregnant to you?”

 

“Well, I’ll give her a once over, see if anything odd pops up. At her age, Mrs. Carlton, I really doubt that she’s pregnant, it’s just not a thing that happens with girls her age, but that tummy really is abnormal.” Louis explains, stretching a pair of powdered blue gloves over his hands and beginning to feel along the dog’s bloated stomach.

 

Mrs. Carlton, an eccentric older lady with long silver hair draped over her shoulder, watches on with a worried expression.

 

“Yep,” Louis says when he lifts himself from his crouching position on the floor, his knees creaking, “I don’t like the feel of that tummy. It’s stretched very tight, which isn’t normal at all for a pregnant dog, or even just an overweight dog.”

 

Mrs. Carlton’s eyes widen and she nods solemnly, holding her hands in her lap over her colourful beaded handbag.

 

“I’m gonna book Amy in for some scans to get a good look at what’s making her so big, if that’s alright with you.” Louis says, popping his glasses on as he flips through his schedule book, “Would it be okay for you to bring Amy over in the morning, about 7:30? We’ve got a free appointment, which will give us enough time to give her the scans and do some blood tests as well.”

 

“Oh, I- yes, that’d be fine. Do you think it’s serious?” She asks with a stammer, wide blue eyes glancing down at the dog with its paw rested on her knee, begging for attention.

 

“Well,” Louis says as he strips his gloves off, leaning back against the bench in the small check-up room, bringing his hand up to rub at his tired eyes, “I think it could be. There’s definitely something going on in there, hopefully it’s something minor like some excess fluid we can just drain out of her and send her home the same day, but it may be something a bit nastier. We’ll definitely know tomorrow if it is, though. In the meantime keep her settled, no runnin’ about, lots of water, and if she starts actin’ up bring her in, we’re open all night.” Louis answers, trying for a comforting smile.

 

Mrs. Carlton sighs and stands up, nodding as she gives Louis’ hand a shake. “Okay, thank you Louis. Come along, Ames.” She beckons lightly, tugging Amy along on her hot pink leash.

 

“Bye, Amy. 7:30 tomorrow mornin’, remember.” He reminds her before walking around into the waiting room, looking down at his clipboard for his next patient’s name.

 

“Actually, Louis?” Niall, the vet-in-training behind the front desk, says. “We’ve got an emergency case coming in, Zayn says he’ll take your next appointment if you take this?”

 

Louis hums and nods, patting Niall on the shoulder. “What’s the emergency?”

 

“Dusty the cat. Owner says he’s acting funny, won’t get up, not keen on food.” Niall says, eyes repeatedly flitting over to the front door of the surgery. That’s partly why Louis agreed to take him on as a trainee, he’s empathetic. Almost as worried as the owners, at times, which in his case will only make him a better vet.

 

“Going off that, what would you think is wrong with it?” Louis asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a seat on the counter. He sees Zayn come out of his own check-up room to call in Ryder, the chubby black Staffy who’s been coming to this vet surgery since he was a bouncy, and slightly fitter, puppy. Louis shoots Zayn a smile before he shuts the door, and he gets one back.

 

“Well,” Niall hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I’d say the cat’s just getting old, the guy says he’s had him since he was fifteen. Those symptoms also fit tick paralysis though, but considering the weather…” He drifts off, looking out the window as the heavy, ice cold rains spits down against the glass.

 

Louis nods as he grabs one of the mints from the bowl on the desk, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth. “Probably just old age, but you’re right, if it was summer a tick would definitely be an option. We’ll give it a good check over anyway, just in case.” Louis responds just as the front door swings open and a wall of freezing air sweeps in with a sopping wet man clutching a cat carrier against his chest, trying to shield it from the rain with his coat.

 

“Dusty?” Louis asks, hurrying back through the hall into the check-up room and opening the door for the man and his cat after receiving a hurried nod in return.

 

“Come on in, we’ll get him out on the table and check him out, see what’s going on.” Louis says as the man peels his coat off, looking to be soaked all the way through to his skin. “Niall, can you bring Dusty’s owner a blanket?” Louis calls out.

 

The man nods his thanks as he clicks open the cage door and lifts the black and white cat out, fur standing on end, obviously bothered by the awful weather and being transported all about the town. He sits the cat down on the unwelcoming metal table, the cat plopping right down to curl up, its nose hiding under its tail.

 

“Sorry, what was your name?” Louis asks as Niall comes through with a blanket, handing it to the man who’s now pulling off his beanie, revealing a head full of soaking, dark brown curls, hanging limp over his forehead. He pulls the flannel blanket around his shoulders as Louis presses his stethoscope to the cat’s ribcage, listening to the shallow breaths croaking from its lungs.

 

“Sorry, ‘M Harry.” Harry mumbles. “He’s been like this all day, won’t eat, won’t drink, won’t walk around, won’t even get up from his bed. Made myself avocado on toast this morning and he didn’t even care, he usually yowls and purrs and makes a big fuss out of acting like he’s starting so I’ll take pity on him.”

 

“Yes, that is a worry. Especially for a cat his age, how old is he exactly?” Louis asks as he moves the stethoscope around, having to disturb the cat from his curled up position to check his heartbeat.

 

“He’d be almost seventeen. Got him when I made it onto the under 15’s cricket team.” Harry answers shakily with a dejected little laugh. “He’s not gonna make it, is he?” He asks, stroking his fingers down from the cat’s elbow to the tip of his paw, over and over again.

 

Louis lets out a sad little hum as he pries open the cat’s jaw to checks his gums. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, crestfallen, his hands immediately moving to stroke between Dusty’s ears.

 

Louis considers how he should word what he’s about to say as Harry looks between the pair anxiously.

 

“He’s not doing too well, Harry. His heartbeat’s slow, his breathing’s shallow. He’s an old boy.” Louis says gently. He’s always had trouble breaking bad news to owners, especially when they show their emotions as blatantly as Dusty’s owner does, Harry repeatedly having to wipe away tears with his mossy green beanie.

 

Harry nods with a small whine coming from the back of his throat, the muscles of his jaw tensing as he flicks his hair out of his eyes and wipes away another few tears.

 

“So, do you have to-, you know?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to Dusty’s nose.

 

Louis sighs, his thumb absentmindedly stroking across the knobs of Dusty’s spine. “I think it would be the kindest thing to do, yeah.”

 

Harry nods again before bringing his beanie to his face, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths into the damp knitted fabric. Louis slides the box of tissues over, probably belatedly, and rests his hand on Harry’s protruding shoulder blade, hoping to comfort him even a little.

 

“Alright.” Harry says with a sniff, obviously trying to pull himself together for the sake of the cat. “Can we do it tonight, or? I don’t want to bring him home if he’s not comfortable.”

 

“Yes, absolutely.” Louis replies gently, telling Harry the price of it before giving Harry another pat on the shoulder. “I can go get everything ready now, if you like. You just sit here with him, let him know you’re with him, yeah?”

 

Harry nods again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he begins taking Dusty’s collar off from around his neck, pocketing it in his jeans. He leans down just as Louis stands up, resting his head down beside Dusty’s, whispering comforting little things to him. _Good boy, Dust, such a good boy, my best friend._

 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a deep breath as he walks out the back, fetching everything he’ll need.

 

He stands out the back for another few minutes after he’s got everything, wanting to give Harry a few extra minutes with his pet.

 

When he slides open the door to the room and slowly treads across the old vinyl floor back towards the table, Harry’s hand is cradling Dusty’s tired little head, and he’s stroking his little white ear.

 

“Alright,” Louis says quietly, placing what he needs on the bench at Dusty’s tail, “What’ll happen, Harry, is I’ll give Dusty a needle,” Louis states, gesturing to the intimidating looking needle filled with a green liquid, “It looks pretty nasty but it’s really just an anesthetic, but it’s an overdose of anesthetic. So he’ll just drift off, and pass. Won’t hurt him at all, it’ll be just like falling asleep.”

 

Harry nods stoically, brow furrowed as he listens.

 

“As Dusty goes, he feet may twitch, or his tail may sway about. That is all normal, it’s just the muscles and nerves in his body reacting and then settling down. On rare occasions, an animal may vocalise, and that can be really difficult to listen to, but that’s also normal. All it is is the air leaving their lungs.” Louis explains, always trying his best to inform the owners properly while still being sensitive. Once, at the beginning of his career, he’d tried to explain this all to an owner, and they’d got confused and upset, thinking that the animal didn’t pass immediately, and that they would move or make noises out of pain. By now, he’s managed to perfect it.

 

Harry clears his throat and nods, giving his face a rough scrub with his fist. “I can take him home, yeah? Bury him at home?” He inquires shakily.

 

“Absolutely. We’ll wrap him up in a blanket and put him back in his cage afterwards, yes?” Louis asks, slipping his glasses out of his shirt pocket and placing them on the bridge of his nose.

 

Harry nods again and steels himself, sucking in a breathe and tensing his jaw again. “Okay, um. When you’re ready.” He says.

 

Louis nods and brings out the needle. He sees Harry’s eyes widen slightly as he tracks its movements. Louis sees one of Harry’s large hands come up to shield Dusty’s eyes from it.

 

“Okay, Dusty.” Louis whispers, giving the cat a little pat before pressing the needle into his front leg. “Good boy.” He says.

 

By now, Harry’s completely ignoring the tears running down his face in favour of speaking to Dusty and saying goodbye, giving him soft little rubs behind his ears.

 

When Dusty’s gone, he just lets out a little exhale, his muscles relaxing as he closes his eyes and looks as if he’s sleeping.

 

Louis gives the fur between Dusty’s eyes a quick scratch before pulling the needle out and packing it up. “I’ll give you a few minutes, Harry.” Louis mutters before leaving the room.

 

He walks down the hall, through the resting room where there are a few dogs and cats, and even a pet pig, in their cages recuperating after surgeries. He disposes of the needle in the bin near the sinks before walking further back into the locker room. “You ‘right?” Niall asks as soon as he sees Louis. Niall’s out back having his snack break, munching on a French loaf slathered in Marmite.

 

“Yeah. Sweet lookin’ little cat.” Louis answers as he sits himself down on the bench beside Niall, shaking his head when he offers him a slice of his loaf. “You were right about what was wrong though. Little thing’s almost seventeen, his body just got tired.”

 

“Damn. His poor owner. Guy sounded devastated on the phone.” Niall replies sadly, dropping crumbs all down the front of his scrubs.

 

Louis hums, giving Niall a pat on the knee before making his way back to the front desk where Liam’s temporarily taken Niall’s place attending to owners. Louis smiles a silent greeting his way as he crouches down onto his haunches, getting all of the necessary paperwork out for Harry.

 

Five minutes later, after Louis had gone back into the room and let Harry sign the forms with shaking hands, they’re wrapping Dusty up in a fluffy burgundy blanket, the ones the surgery keeps for this exact purpose - taking pets home safe and warm. Zayn and Louis had always wanted to emphasise care when they took control of the surgery from its previous owner, wanting to comfort both pets and owners as much as they could.

 

Harry lifts Dusty into his carrier and sighs, pulling the front of his still wet jumper away from his chest.

 

“Thank you, Louis.” Harry says, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “For treating him so well.”

 

Louis nods once, sincerely, tugging a tissue out of the box to give his glasses a wipe over. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Harry. He looked like a lovely boy.”

 

“He was.” Harry says, voice barely audible. After a few moments of silence, Harry scoops his coat up from the chair behind him, folding it over his forearm.

 

“I’ll be off then. Thank you, again.” Harry says, holding his hand out for Louis to shake, and that he does.

 

Harry lifts Dusty’s carrier up and walks back out to the waiting room with Louis trailing behind him.

 

While he waits to bid Harry a farewell, Louis chats with a regular client, Susan, her tiny Fox Terrier leaping up into his lap when he takes a seat. At the reception desk, Harry pays and accepts Niall’s condolences with a tight smile.

 

When Harry turns and makes towards the door, Louis lifts little Peggy off his lap and stands, giving Harry one last handshake and a firm pat on his shoulder. They share a sad smile between themselves as Harry swings the heavy door open, the storm outside having calmed down since he arrived.

 

“Thanks for taking care of him, mate.” He says before walking off towards his four wheel drive, smiling as Louis sends him off with a salute, resting his weight against the door frame. Louis walks back inside as Harry carefully sits Dusty’s carrier in the front passenger seat, tugging the seatbelt over to fasten him in.

  
When Louis spots a set of baby car seats in the back, he frowns, and can’t help but think about whether there’s going to be a bunch of devastated little curly haired kids waiting at the front door for Dusty to come home.


	2. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I just love making characters hurt. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and/or comments. Thaaank you

“What’s wrong?” George queries as soon as Louis gets home, toeing his shoes off at the door before walking into the kitchen where George is standing tall and broad at the stove.

 

Louis whines and shoots him a glare, rolling his eyes at his tireless intuition.

 

“Come on,” George says as he swipes his finger through the bubbling sauce to test its taste, giving a satisfied nod before he continues stirring, “Spill it.”

 

Louis sighs, climbing up onto one of the bar stools at the counter, sitting opposite George.

 

“I bumped into Niall at lunch today.” He says quietly, mouth twisting slightly as if he’s tasted something bitter.

 

George tilts his head to the side in the way Louis’ always loved, one of his many endearing mannerisms. “What’s so bad about that? You love Niall.” He says.

 

“Nothing bad, just- haven’t seen him for a while, is all.” Louis mutters, bringing his hand up to his mouth to chew at his jagged thumbnail.

 

“Yeah, we never really see him unless all of us get together, do we?” George hums before gently pushing Louis’ hand away from his mouth.

 

Louis childishly smacks George’s own hand back, making him chuckle.

 

“He’s been busy, I suppose. The new job at the studio’s going really well, he said.” Louis states with a crinkled brow, lacing his fingers together in front of him on the bench to stop from biting his nails down to the nubs.

 

“That’s great. I still don’t understand why you’re stressed out over Niall, though.” George says, raising a teasing eyebrow at Louis.

 

Louis grunts, folding further in on himself.

 

Both the men are silent for a few moments before Louis speaks.

 

“Do you think I ever lead Harry on?” Louis questions, voice meek and upset.

 

“Harry? Lead Harry on?” George almost scoffs, mouth turning turn into a frown. “Of course not. Did Niall say that?” He asks, slightly more concerned.

 

“Yeah, we got talking about the lads, and how long it’s been since we all got together. I mentioned that Harry’s been acting a bit funny these last few months, been a bit distant.” Louis sighs, undoing the top three buttons of his fitted black work shirt, feeling too tight and too smothering.

 

“Well, Harry’s busy, I suppose, with the new shop and all.” George adds hesitantly, absentmindedly adding the sliced chicken to the sauce bubbling on the stove.

 

“Niall said that he’s been acting strange lately. Moody.” Louis informs, snatching a stick of carrot when George begins slicing one up.

 

“Go on.” George prompts, a kind of poorly feeling settling in his stomach.

 

“Ever since we got married, apparently.” Louis says nonchalantly, rubbing at his tired eyes with the knuckles of his index fingers.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah. Oh.” Louis mutters sourly.

 

George doesn’t press the issue, staying quiet until they’re seated at the table, both of them having finished their tea.

 

“Do _you_ think you ever lead Harry on?” George asks, leaning back in his chair to watch Louis’ movements.

 

Louis sighs and rests his face in his hands, breathing deep and slow. He shrugs silently, calming when George reaches over to cup his large hand around the back of Louis’ neck, comforting him.

 

“I never did it deliberately.” Louis sighs, breathy and anxious. “I just-, I’ve been thinking about this one thing ever since lunch.” Louis says, wincing.

 

“What one thing?” George asks, brow furrowed.

 

“At our wedding, when we were leaving the church. He had tears in his eyes.”

 

-

-

 

They met on the first day of sixth form.

 

“Kalli Samuels?” Mr. Heath, the school’s new geography teacher, called out. Straight out of university, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, Mitchell Heath was a handsome young teacher, with dark, thick eyebrows and a strong, firm jaw. Hannah’s group of friends had whispered and giggled when he’d introduced himself, causing a blush to spread across over both their and his cheeks.

 

Kalli Samuels lifts her hand with a halfhearted, “Here”, as she taps away at her scuffed and cracked phone. Louis remembers her from the previous year when she’d dated one of his mates for a month, hanging around with his group at lunch, watching them play footy, bleating non-stop for a solid week about the new phone her step-mum got her for her birthday, and how she _didn't even have to pay for her plan._

 

If Louis had eventually resorted to booting the football directly into her lap and sending the stupid purple phone flying out of her hands and into the mud, that’s only for him to know and for Kalli to loathe him for.

 

Louis thinks it might just be six months since that relationship-ending incident. Stan had come over to his place that afternoon telling Louis, speaking loudly as Daisy threw a tantrum over not being able to watch her choice of cartoon, that he’d broken up with Kalli, because he’d _never date a girl who didn't like his best mate._ Louis smiles fondly at the memory.

 

“Miss Samuels. Phone away, please.” Mr. Heath reprimands lightly, not quite feeling brave enough on his first day to get on any student’s bad side.

 

“Yeah, Kal. Put your phone away.” Louis teases, leaning his chair back onto its hind legs so he can glance down the line of desks to where Kalli is and shoot her a wink and a smile.

 

“Two secs, Sir. Blow me, Louis.” Kalli says with a very impressive eyeroll before pocketing her phone in her bra, giving it a protective pat. Louis begins to moan and cup his own, admittedly flatter, chest, two of his mates beside him joining in, their surnames conveniently also beginning with T, as the rest of the class laughs.

 

“Yeah alright, you three. Pipe down, put ‘em away.” Mr. Heath scoffs as he paces around the class, giving Louis a light smack on the back of the head with his clipboard.

 

“Sir! I could report you for that! I could write a letter!” Louis gasps, clutching his hand to his heart and pretending to collapse, his head falling down onto the person on his left’s shoulder. When the person clears their throat awkwardly and Louis feels them shift around, he snaps his head up, sparing them a small smile as a means for apologising for flopping the full weight of his head down onto him. The boy smiles back hesitantly before turning his head back to the front of the class.

 

“I’m not so sure you can actually write, Louis, so I apologise if I’m not too intimidated right now.” Mr. Heath quips with a smirk that could beat Louis’ own. The class laughs again, Kalli especially loud, and Louis sinks down into his seat and crosses his arms.

 

Mr. Heath moves on with roll call, Aaron Smyth unfortunately present a desk down from Louis’. One of Louis’ friends coughs out a gag after Louis fails to, too busy sulking in his seat.

 

Mr. Heath shoots his mate a glare before carrying on with a sigh. “Styles? Harry Styles?”

 

“Here.” The boy next to him calls out with a voice deeper than Louis expected, sheepishly raising his hand as the rest of the class mutters about the only new kid in their class.

 

“Are you a hairdresser, Harry Styles?” Stan snickers from the row in front of theirs, twisting in his seat to see whether he’s made Louis laugh. He hasn’t.

 

“Sounds like a pornstar name!” Milo Zorn, one of the lads in the cricket team, hoots from the back row.

 

“Enough, boys. You all think you’re a lot funnier than you actually are.” Mr. Heath snaps, aiming his already learnt _angry teacher point_ at Milo and Stan, respectively.

 

“Louis Tomlinson.” Mr. Heath calls, the roll of his eyes clearly audible in his tone.

 

“Yeah, here.” Louis mumbles, rolling his eyes right back and making sure Sir sees him do it.

 

-

 

A few weeks later, after Louis has firmly secured his position at the top of Mr. Heath’s _Least Favourite Students List_ , as well as a few other teachers’ as well, Fizzy gets the flu.

 

Darcy and Phoebe squeal and hide behind the doorframe of the single Tomlinson bathroom, both of them half disgusted and half intrigued by the disgusting noises Fizz makes every time she throws up.

 

Louis is crouched behind her, cringing while he holds her long blonde hair back, and his mum is downstairs, pacing around calling doctors and babysitters and Fizzy’s school and her own work and _everyone_ who’s going to be affected by Fizzy eating a single bad hotdog at Lottie’s last netball game the day before.

 

“Lou! I can take Fizz to the doctor if you can get the twins to school, alright?” She yells up the stairs, her voice high and shrill, just like Louis’ gets when he’s stressed.

 

“That’s fine! Make sure you call my school though!” He yells back, cooing as Fizzy whines and moans about how much she’s hurting.

 

“I know, sweetie…” He hushes, brushing his small fingers through her hair.

 

-

 

An hour later, after getting himself ready, the twins dressed and packed and walked to their school before rushing back to his own, heavy bag jumping around on his back, Louis runs through the front doors of his school, barely remembering to stop at the admin office to grab his tardy ticket before scurrying off to class.

 

As he waits for Mrs. Jennings to print off his slip and sign it, the school’s outdated technology taking forever to do the most simple of tasks, pornstar-slash-hairdresser Harry Styles skids to a stop beside him, panting and sweating.

 

Mrs. Jennings puffs out a sigh and types something into the computer when she sees Harry, ordering up another tardy slip to be printed.

 

Louis side-eyes the boy, his short curls gone all wild from the unrelenting humidity of early spring.

 

“Why you late?” Louis asks, nudging the kid with his elbow.

 

Harry startles and straightens up from his position hunched over the front desk, catching his breath. “Slept in.” He responds, big, round eyes blinking repeatedly at Louis.

 

Louis’ brow furrows. From memory, by the time Louis arrives in geography class every Thursday morning with his friends, often mere seconds before the first bell of the day, Harry is already there, curled up in the corner with his feet tucked under him, scribbling something in his book.

 

“You?” Harry asks politely, tapping his foot impatiently as Louis’ slip is printed off and handed to him.

 

“Had to take my little sisters to school.” Louis replies, shoving his slip into his shirt pocket before adjusting his backpack, waiting as Mrs. Jennings signs Harry’s own finally printed slip.

 

“Oh.” Is all Harry says back, both of them walking towards their only class together at the end of the hall, their steps falling into unison.

 

When they reach the door, Louis pushes Harry in front of him, making him open the door and pop his head in first.

 

When Harry does exactly so and manages to pull Louis’s head in the space beside his own, Mr. Heath grumbles and rolls his eyes from his position at the front of the class, holding a ruler up to point at what he’s written on the board.

 

“Why are you late, Styles?” Sir asks as the entire class look over their shoulders to the door.

 

“Slept in. Won’t happen again, Sir.” Harry mumbles, stepping inside the class with his bag clutched to his chest.

 

“Alright, you still get a detention though. What about you, Tomlinson?”

 

Louis’ face contorts, the right side of his upper lip twitching upwards. “My mum said she’d call. Did she not?”

 

Mr. Heath sighs, telling the class to get back to work and continue copying what he’d wrote on the board. Sir walks back to his desk in the corner, flopping down into his big leather seat before lifting the class phone up to his ear, pressing a single button.

 

“Hey Marge, it’s Mitchell, room 12 geography. I’ve got a late Louis Tomlinson here, he says his mum was meant to call. Did she?”

 

Mr. Heath nods and says thank you, hanging the phone back up. “She never called, Tomlinson. Detention for you too.” Mr. Heath says, shrugging his shoulders in a way that makes Louis want to boot a football at his groin.

 

“She said she would.” He replies, slipping his hands into his trousers as Sir writes both Harry and Louis detention slips, telling Harry that Louis knows the room’s location well, so he should just let him lead the way.

 

Louis scoffs and snatches the slip out of Sir’s hand before grabbing Harry’s elbow, and leading him out of the classroom.

 

“He really doesn’t like you.” Harry says quietly as they walk through the eerily quiet school halls, Louis having dropped Harry’s arm since leaving geography.

 

“And I really don’t like him.” Is all Louis says in response, forehead crinkled and mouth pursed tight.

 

Harry hums, his nose wrinkling.

 

“Don’t fret, Curly. You were bound to get a detention from him eventually, don’t think he’s suddenly stopped adoring you just because of this.” Louis says bitterly just as the door to the detention room a few metres ahead of them swings open, Mrs. Fry beckoning them with the curl of her long-nailed finger.

 

“Sir didn’t trust me to walk here myself so he called you?” Louis guesses with arched eyebrows, waltzing into the empty classroom with Harry trailing behind him.

 

“You’ve buggered off before, Louis, and you’d bugger off again. You can’t blame him for being vigilant with you.” Mrs. Fry laughs, swooping in to ruffle his head of straight shaggy hair.

 

Louis just grumbles and bats her hand away, taking a seat beside the window in the back row as Harry sheepishly introduces himself to Mrs. Fry.

 

When he sees Harry hovering around nervously, his thumb and index finger pinching playing with his bottom lip, Louis takes pity on him and pats the desk next to him. “C’mon.” He beckons.

 

Harry shoots him a grateful smile and takes a seat next to him, hanging his backpack on the back of his chair.

 

“Alright, you two. It’s your lucky day, because today I have a pile of paperwork that needs stapling. Come up and grab a pile each, and go wild. I’ve only got you for twenty minutes, don’t dawdle or I’ll actually have to do some of it myself.” Mrs Fry winks, laughing airily as she takes her seat at the front of the class.

 

“Oh, and Harry, dear.” She calls out, beginning to file her thumbnail absentmindedly, “If Louis starts crying about this being child labour, just remind him that he’s eighteen now, alright?”

 

Harry’s cheeks flush and he nods, laughing with crinkled up eyes when Louis lets out an indignant squawk, feeling a lot more comfortable than he had been when he first walked into the room.

 

-

 

After spending those 20 minutes together in detention, stapling documents and tossing questions back and forth between each other, like _what is your favourite movie that revolves around music or is a musical?_ from Louis, and some funny would you rathers from Harry, Louis and Harry become a thing.

 

The next day at lunch, Louis trots over to where Harry’s picking at his sandwich in the hall, plopping himself down against the lockers beside him.

 

“I’m gonna sit with you today, Curly.” He says, smiling at Harry as he takes a bite out of the cookie he just got from the canteen.

 

Harry raises his eyebrows and smiles, bemused. “If you want.” He shrugs before glancing down the hall to where Louis’ mates are crowded around a vending machine, shouting and shoving at it before being yelled at by the principal. He he settles back against the lockers, glancing over strangely at Louis.

 

And the next Monday, Louis does the same. On Tuesday as well. And Wednesday.

 

People are confused at first, Louis’ friends in particular, shooting him questioning glares when they see them wandering around the school grounds, often arm in arm, bickering and laughing and teasing and flirting.

 

But after a few weeks of the strange stares and the confused pointing, people get used to it. They get used to Harry accompanying Louis to footy practice with his nice new camera, snapping shots of Louis and the grass and Louis and the stands and Louis, and they get used to Louis barking at anyone who dares tease Harry, even when to everyone else it seems as if tease Harry is all Louis does all day, picking on his curls and his dimples, and his long noodly limbs. Harry doesn’t mind though, never tells him to stop, just blushes and calls him an idiot.

 

They become best friends, really. Spending every minute they can with each other. Studying in the library, sitting together in class, meeting their respective families, having sleepovers where all they do all night is laugh at dumb Facebook pages and play FIFA, feet intertwined as they shove at each other’s shoulders and laugh.

 

Louis likes Harry, he’s weird and funny and nice and quirky, and a lot funner than his footy mates. Harry doesn’t pretend not to like pop music, which is a quality Louis really values in a friend.

 

One night at Louis’ place - after watching a horror movie on the small TV in his room, spending the first fifteen minutes of the film shooing Louis’ little sisters away from his door so they don’t get scared - Louis falls asleep before Harry, his head rested on his ever-broadening chest. Harry sighs and lets himself hope, and thinks, _this is who I want_ , before curling himself around Louis with his nose tucked in the nape of his neck.

 

-

 

When Harry first realises that being smitten over Louis kind of means that he might like boys a little bit as well, he’s in the shower jerking off.

 

He’d been dropped off at his place after Louis’ footy practice, who came inside to give his mum a quick kiss on the cheek and his sister a flick on the ear before jetting back out the door, calling out a _goodbye_ , and a, _I'll see you tomorrow_ , to Harry, who was already ascending the staircase up to his room.

 

It’d been a humid afternoon, cool enough to chuck on a hoodie but still sticky, making the soft cotton of Harry’s favourite old t-shirt cling to his back as he wandered around the field while Louis did drills, taking pictures of anything that caught his fancy.

 

Harry hums a familiar poppy tune as he shucks his clothes off and turns the shower on full blast, testing the hard spray with his fingers.

 

When he steps in, it’s with a relieved sigh, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms above his head, muscles aching with growing pains. Louis likes to remind Harry that if he gets another inch taller than him, he’ll clobber him with his mum’s tennis racquet. Harry laughs whenever he remembers the pinched look on Louis’ face when he’d threatened him with the turquoise and black racquet, the pair of them mucking around in the hall before sitting down to have dinner when Harry’s grandparents had come to visit.

 

Harry washes his hair and pointedly avoids his dick, scrubbing away the layer of sweat that had dried over his alabaster skin before finally getting a fist around himself, sucking a breath in through his gritted teeth as he begins to pump.

 

He thinks of boobs, and arses, and his hand on boobs, and his hands on arses, and slim waists and long legs, and everything else that he’s found that he likes.

 

His mind flits from bodypart to bodypart, person to person, and when he feels his abdomen muscles twitch and tighten, he begins chasing his orgasm, pumping faster and paying more attention to the deep red head.

 

The thing that sends him over the edge though, come spurting hot and making him squeeze his eyes shut and stretch his neck back, is the image of a Louis laid out on his back with his shirt shucked up his chest.

 

Harry finishes and comes down from the high before he has a proper think about that. He lets out a deep sigh and cleans the rest of the come off of his knuckles before he properly considers what pushed him over the edge.

 

He thinks about Louis, thinks about his slim waist and his tan skin and his thick muscular thighs around Harry’s hips as Harry opens the shower door and grabs his towel, scrubbing it through his sopping wet curls, fluffing them up in the process.

 

 _Louis is nice_ , Harry thinks, _his cock is probably nice too._

 

He shrugs and switches the bathroom light off, crossing the hall to his bedroom.

 

-

 

By Christmas, Harry’s entirely comfortable with his sexuality, and has told his mum, and his sister, and Robin, and Niall and Liam, his friends from his old school, and anyone else who wants to know, really.

 

When he tells Louis on the 20th of December, mere hours before Harry and his family are driving down to Brighton, he’s nervous.

 

He hears the things the guys on the rugby team hiss at Louis when they pass in the hall, and he knows how much it upsets Louis when he gets hurled slurs on the field.

 

Harry doesn’t think Louis is homophobic, and he certainly doesn’t think Louis will hate him for liking guys just as much as he likes girls, but he’s seen the way Louis reacts to being called a faggot - he doesn’t shrug and brush it off.

 

“I like boys, Louis. Kind of just as much as I like girls.” Harry says as they sit opposite each other on Harry’s bed, Louis having braced himself for _The Thing_ Harry said he had to tell him before he left until New Year’s Day.

 

Harry watches Louis as his fidgeting fingers still for a moment before going back to picking at a loose stitch on his jumper. Harry flicks his hands away before he ruins it and waits.

 

“Lou?” He says, voice anxious and quiet.

 

Louis lifts his head and looks at Harry, blue eyes wide and lips pink and obviously gnawed on.

 

“Lou…?” Harry repeats, tucking his own bottom lip between his teeth.

 

Louis nods slowly, reaching out and squeezing Harry’s larger hands in his.

 

Harry lets out a puff of air from his lungs, laughing breathily as he squeezes Louis’ fingers back.

 

Louis sits up on his knees, closing the small space between them and pulling Harry into a tight hug. “‘S alright, Haz.” Harry whines and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist.

 

Harry feels Louis’ heartbeat against his cheek, beating hard and fast. “I am too. The boy bit, I mean. Not the girl bit.” Louis whispers, pulling his head out of Harry’s neck to look him in the eye.

 

Harry stutters, his mouth hanging slightly ajar as he watches Louis’ cheeks flush a deep pink.

 

“You can’t tell anyone though. Promise you won’t tell anyone.” Louis says, jabbing a finger into the centre of Harry’s chest, emphasising each word.

 

“I would never, Lou.” Harry assures, pulling Louis down to sit over Harry’s thighs, pulling him back close, chest to chest.

 

“Sorry for not telling you, I was just- I don’t like it. I don’t want anyone knowing.” Louis says, his voice muffled by Harry’s thick cable knit sweater.

 

“You don’t like it?” Harry asks, smoothing his hands up and down Louis’ spine.

 

Louis shakes his head, his shoulders jumping in a small shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not the best.” He says as a thousand thoughts churn in Harry’s mind.

 

“Would you change it if you could?” Harry questions hesitantly, hands curling around the soft flesh at Louis’ hips before Louis bats him away.

 

Louis stays quiet for a moment, playing with one of the springy curls at the back of Harry’s head. “Yeah, I guess. If I could.” He whispers.

 

Harry’s brow furrows, and he croaks out a little, “Oh.”

 

“Not that there’s anything wrong with you, Harry. Or even me. It’s just that- it’d be easier if I wasn’t. My family aren’t as open as yours.” Louis says dejectedly, slumping further into Harry’s chest.

 

“Oh.” Harry says again, searching his memory for any time that Jay’s been anything but kind and soft with Louis.

 

“Yeah.” Louis mumbles, and Harry supposes that Louis knows his mother better than Harry ever could.

 

-

-

 

Two years later on the 20th of December 2012, after making it through their A-Levels with the minimum amount of stress crying, and being accepted into both of their top choice universities in Manchester, Harry and Louis have their own flat.

 

It’s small. Cramped. Very cold. But Harry and Louis love it, because it’s theirs, and only theirs.

 

Louis was wrong, it turns out. At least a little bit wrong. Louis’ mum hadn’t hated him for being gay, him sitting her down and telling her two days before he and Harry were to leave for Manchester. She hadn’t jumped for joy and wrapped him in a comforting hug either, but she didn’t yell and kick him out and ban him from ever seeing his sisters again, which was all Louis could ask for. They don’t speak very often anymore, but he gets to have regular Skype calls with his girls, so he’s happy. Mostly.

 

“I’m fucking freezing.” Louis grunts as he twirls a navy scarf around his neck, only his face visible under the dense layers of clothing covering his shivering body.

 

“Get back over here then, you cock.” Harry calls from the couch, both his and Louis’ doonas piled on top of him. He presses play on the next episode of Grey’s Anatomy as he hears rummaging in their tiny kitchen.

 

“I’m fucking hungry, Harry, what’s the point in getting warm if you’ll just die of starvation later anyway?” He snaps, tossing a bag of individually wrapped KitKats over at Harry’s face.

 

Harry moans a bit too excitedly, tearing the bag open with his teeth before beginning to litter the room with the little red wrappers.

 

“Oi, fucker! Don’t bloody eat them all!” Louis gasps as he dives back onto the couch with their last Red Bull and a bag of home-brand corn chips, snatching the bag right out of Harry’s grip. He also steals the half a KitKat hanging from Harry’s mouth, just on principle.

 

Harry growls out something that sounds like, “give it!” as Meredith starts her monologue, talking about childhood and responsibility.

 

“I will when you learn how to share, you beast.” Louis reprimands, giving Harry a light smack on the arm before lifting it up to cuddle right back under the blankets with him.

 

“I can share.” He murmurs petulantly, letting Louis get comfortable against his side before smacking a little kiss on his head.

 

-

-

 

Louis meets George a month later.

 

He’d gone out to a club with one of the artsy boys he’d met on campus, who also turned out to like guys quite a bit, so their choice of club type wasn’t a hard decision.

 

They’d spent most of the night talking and dancing and laughing, commentating on the other people loitering around with colourful drinks in their hands.

 

It turns out Zayn enjoyed a good old gossip just as much as Louis did.

 

“Wait wait wait, look at this guy. Over by the bar, Naruto hair.” Zayn hisses in Louis ear, both of them crowded into each other’s space in the booth.

 

Louis splutters, smacking a hand over his mouth when he spots _Naruto_ , a guy with bleach blonde hair all gelled up and spiked like Louis used to do when he was eight, trying to chat up a cute Asian guy wearing a tight black polka dot shirt. The guy has almost entirely turned away from Naruto, choosing instead to make conversation with the pitying bartender, her empathetic, down-turned eyebrows barely visible above the thick frames of her spectacles.

 

“This is so mean.” Louis laughs, watching someone who he expects is a complete stranger come over to start a conversation with polka dot guy, who looks ready to cry as he glances over his shoulder and sees Naruto walking away dejectedly.

 

“No it’s not, we’re not hurting anyone. Just having some fu- Oh my God look at Naruto!” Zayn says before leaning back against the back of the booth and laughing openly and loudly.

 

Louis follows Zayn’s previous line of vision and spots Naruto now on the dancefloor, trying to edge his way in between two girls with shaved black and dyed green hair, respectively.

 

“Does he not know where he is? He’s trying to squeeze in between a pair of girls who were macking on three minutes ago!” Louis giggles, sucking up the rest of his drink through the straw until it starts making the noises that he knows annoys Zayn.

 

He leaps up with a snigger when Zayn, who’s still giddy and joyous, smacks him on the arm for it, telling him he’s going off to dance before squirming his way through the hoards of people to the middle of the dancefloor where it’s the most cramped and the air is the hottest.

 

A Rihanna song starts playing, one of Louis’ favourites, and he soon feels a warm body, taller and wider than his, press against his back and mimic his own movements.

 

Louis smiles airily and maybe a bit drunkenly as he grabs the man’s hands and rests them on his stomach, letting him touch him as much as he likes.

 

After a few songs the man’s hard and pressing rhythmically against Louis’ arse, both of them resorting to simple grinding instead of dancing.

 

The man leans in, hot breath tickling Louis’ ear as he says, “What’s your name?”

 

“Louis.” He replies, looking over his shoulder to get a better look at the man’s face in the scarcely lit club.

 

“You want to come back to my place, _Louis_?” The man asks, voice deep and smooth, and Louis thinks he must not have been drinking much.

 

Louis considers his offer, biting his lip as he looks over in the general direction of Louis and Zayn’s booth. “Give me five minutes?” Louis requests.

 

The man nods and unwinds his arms from around Louis’ torso, letting him disappear into the crowd.

 

Louis doesn’t find Zayn at their booth, but he does find him at the bar, talking to a tall black man with gorgeous lips and a shaved mohawk.

 

“Zayn!” He calls as he nears his friend. Zayn spins his stool around and cocks an eyebrow when he sees the state Louis’ in.

 

“Found a friend, have we?” Zayn teases, eyes flicking down to Louis’ strained pants.

 

“Shut up. Are you good to get home on your own?” Louis asks, adjusting his turned up collar and the two buttons undone at his sternum.

 

Zayn smirks and nods, taking a zip of his rum and coke. “Sure am. Can’t promise I’ll be alone though.” He says, looking over his shoulder at the man beside him who grins back.

 

Louis huffs out a happy sigh and leans in, giving Zayn a quick hug and kiss on the forehead before running off back to where he last saw tall-handsome-probably-not-drunk-man.

 

It’s a few minutes until Louis starts to feel let down, standing on his tip toes to see if he can see the man’s short brown hair above all of the other heads.

 

“Looking for me?” Louis hears a voice behind him, two hands coming up to prod at his ribs.

 

Louis laughs and spins around, steadying himself with his hands on the slightly burly man’s shoulders when his vision blurs and he feels light-headed.

 

“You right, love?” Louis’ mystery man asks with his hands on Louis’ waist, keeping him upright. “You sure you don’t want to go home?”

 

“Nup,” Louis chirps, smiling wide when he feels normal again.

 

“Well, alright.” The man smiles, pretty blue eyes shimmering when the lights in the club hit them right. “My place, then? I’ll call a cab.”

 

Louis nods happily before making a face and beginning to shake his head, slowly at first. “My place is closer, we can walk.” He slurs, standing on his toes and scooting close to the man.

 

“If you’re alright with walking, we can go to yours.” The man smiles, tilting his head to the side in what Louis’ mind thinks is a very cute way.

 

“I still don’t even know your name, mystery man.” Louis chastises playfully, prodding at the man’s chest as they make their way through the crowd to the exit.

 

The man laughs, shaking his head. “George. I’m George. And you’re Louis.”

 

“George.” He tests the name in his mouth. “‘S not a very sexy name, but it’ll do.” He says with a hiccup.

 

George gasps in feigned offence as he leads Louis out into the streets, nodding to the bouncer on his way out. “We can’t all have lovely French names like you, _Louis_. Sorry to disappoint.” He smirks.

 

Louis giggles as he makes on his way towards his and Harry’s flat, his mind barely registering the cold air making the tiny hairs on his arms stand on end.

 

George falls into pace next to him eventually, wrapping his arm around Louis’ waist, and Louis smiles up at him.

 

It’s almost 2 o’clock when Louis swings the heavy front door open, flicking the lights on as he leads George into the small flat.

 

“Tiny kitchen, tiny living room, tiny dining table. My tiny bedroom now?” He points to each designated area in the open plan room before grabbing George’s hand and tugging him towards the hallway.

 

“Do you live alone?” George questions, whispering just in case.

 

Louis shakes his head, pointing to the closed door across the hall from the one Louis’ leading George into.

 

“My best mate, Harry. He works in a bakery, so he probably went to bed at like, nine. Don’t ‘ave to worry about him. He sleeps like a brick.” Louis explains, flopping down onto his double bed.

 

“I don’t think that’s the saying.” George teases as he climbs on top of Louis, the bed creaking in distress at his weight. He tucks his face into Louis’ neck and begins biting and sucking.

 

Louis blushes and really hopes that Harry’s asleep.

 

-

 

Harry wasn’t asleep.

 

-

-

 

It’s another few weeks until all six of them get together after Louis and George’s discussion. Louis spent that time venting to George about all of the times he’d treated Harry like a boyfriend and gotten jealous when Harry met someone new, giving him the absolute wrong impression and stringing him along.

 

In a group text with all of the boys, Louis suggests they all meet up soon, begging them all to come out to dinner, reacting to all of their affirmative texts with a solid amount of heart eyes, crying, and kissing emojis.

 

George and Louis arrive at Rosso’s first, settling into their table for six and snacking on the garlic bread as they wait, chatting lightly about whatever comes to mind.

 

Niall arrives next with Zayn, the pair of them getting on remarkably well when they were first introduced, despite their opposing appearances and crowds.

 

“Heya, babe. Nice little haunt, this one.” Zayn greets as he pulls Louis into a hug, pecking an affectionate kiss onto his cheek as Niall wraps his twiggy arms around George’s neck and is lifted up off the ground, laughing loudly and merrily.

 

“George and I come here all the time, it’s so good. Their bread makes me cry.” Louis says as he laughs at George and Niall.

 

Both pairs separate to swap, Niall being put back down with his face bright red from laughing and Zayn patting Louis on the shoulder before going over to pull George into a big hug as well.

 

Niall opens his arms and Louis walks into them, squeezing his arms tight around Niall’s middle. “Missed you, man.” Louis says.

 

“Missed you too, Tommo.” Niall grins, giving Louis hair a rough tussle when he says _'M not a Tommo anymore, man_ as they all sit down at the table, George on Louis’ right and Zayn and Niall beside George.

 

Liam arrives a few minutes later, apologising profusely for his tardiness, cheeks flushed pink. Zayn laughs as they all stand up to greet him and gives him a friendly smack on the shoulder, telling him that Harry’s even later than him, so he doesn’t have to worry.

 

They’re all settled in with water and another basket of bread in the centre of the table when Harry arrives in a flurry, clutching a bottle of wine in his hand.

 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, guys!” He says sheepishly, sweeping his drooping fringe back up into a quiff when they all turn around in their seats.

 

Louis sighs in relief and stands, laughing as Harry,  scoops him up into a hug.

 

“Sorry I’m late, Lou.” He whispers in his ear, squeezing him tight and pressing a kiss to Louis’ temple. “Thanks for inviting me.”

 

Louis cringes and rubs his back up and down, muttering out a “Don’t be silly, Haz.” before letting him go greet everyone else.

 

Niall shoots him an almost pitying smile from the other side of the table as George and Harry hug.

 

The night goes well, overall. Harry and Louis sit together and talk animatedly, telling stories and making the group laugh. At one point, Louis catches Niall shooting Harry a sad smile, and sees Harry roll his eyes and shoot him a cross look.

 

When they’ve all paid their share, they flock out into the street, still talking. Liam, George and Louis all stand around laughing over the last episode of American Ninja Warrior, and Zayn hangs around the corner having a smoke before catching the tube home. Niall and Harry sit on the ground against the restaurant wall, pressing close together, shoulder to ankle.

 

“Did tonight go alright?” Niall asks, watching as Louis shoots Harry an almost sad smile from his position under George’s arm.

 

Harry shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, it was- it was fine. Good seeing Lou.”

 

“It was good seeing you and Lou act like best friends again.” Niall admits, knocking his foot against Harry’s.

 

“Yeah…” Harry sighs, his shoulders hunching over. “Miss him lots.”

“He misses you too.” Niall assures as they watch Louis and George say the same thing at the same time while bickering with Liam, letting out a happy cackle and hoot.

 

Harry doesn’t respond for a while, just sits there watching his breath puff out in a cloud and float up to the sky.

 

“Always thought it’d be us.” He mutters.

 

Niall sighs and wraps his arm around Harry’s tense shoulders. “So did I, man. Think we all did.”

 

Harry scrubs at his face with his palms, rubbing at his tired, puffy eyes, and doesn’t reply.

 

-

 

After they’d all said goodbye, Zayn and Niall catching the tube back to their respective homes, Liam calling a cab after practically inhaling his weight in wine and spaghetti, and George and Louis walking a block to where George had parked his car, Harry decided to just walk the seven blocks back to his flat.

 

He’d bought a nicer one a few months after Louis had moved out to live with George, not being able to see the funny side of their awful little icebox after Louis left.

 

It’s certainly warmer, his new flat. Bigger, more modern, less questionable neighbours. He lives alone, but that’s what he wants, really.

 

He doesn’t bother flicking the lights on when he gets home, making a beeline for his big comfy couch.

 

Harry huffs out a groan and spreads out lengthwise, feet hanging over the edge of the armrest. He sighs and rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

  
_I met the love of my life_ , Harry thinks. _He didn't._


End file.
